A Scandal in Surveillance
by LondonTowerProtector
Summary: Greg Lestrade gets sent a mysterious set of Surveillance tapes from the one and only Moriarty. Could the footage lead to embarrassing truths that some may want to keep hidden? A johnlock fic documenting developing relationship through cctv footage that the police officers of the Yard have to document. will they get outed to the press? POST series 1, not series 2 or 3 compliant
1. This Is Really Not My Division

**CHAPTER 1**

Greg Lestrade ran a slightly shaking hand down his weary face. 8 months… 8 months of nothing until now. Not a word, not another poor sod covered in explosives, or trail of bloody bread crumbs to be sucked up by the overly enthusiastic consulting man-child that was Sherlock Holmes. Moriarty had disappeared off of the face of the earth, gone beyond where even Sherlock or his "minor position in the Government" brother could find him. Lestrade had watched as Sherlock and John, bedraggled and slightly scorched, walked out of the pool complex. He remembered how Sherlock's hands had had a slight tremor, how his face had been intense with some dark emotion and remembered how he felt, he, for the very first time, felt well and truly scared of him. It was not a game anymore, he could tell by the not-so-subtle glances Sherlock had been giving his companion, who himself was oblivious and stuck in his own head, his mouth a grim line and his eyebrows painting a furious parallel. Lestrade had shivered as he walked towards them, thinking that he was never going to see Moriarty locked up, probably never again.

Not unless an unidentified body was spat from the Thames from her diseased maw.

Now Moriarty had turned up, sent his own personalised gift to Lestrade's very own office. It had been waiting for him, after he returned from getting a shitty coffee from the Yards break room. He had sat down, not thinking much about the stack of DVDs placed upon his desk, waving them away as some evidence from his last case. After 5 minutes of trying to swallow the coffee and spinning slightly in his chair, his curiosity had finally prevailed, and he opened the envelope that he had only just noticed to the side of the innocuous stack. _To Gregory Lestrade _were the words thatgreeted him, written in curly cursive that squirmed and writhed as he shook out the piece of expensive looking paper.

_Hi! Thought you would enjoy these little sneaky peak previews into the life of Sherlock Holmes. Who would have thought he was such a naughty boy? Oh dear, how the 'sociopath' has fallen… I guess I am just a teensy bit disappointed _ _ he and I could have had such good fun! Oh well, I suppose I'll just have to burn the heart out of him sooner rather than later. I hope you enjoy the show Gregory. The freak and his pet will be so manic, their faces a mask of shock as their… partnership is aired for all of Scotland yard to see; mmm I can just imagine it… I won't have to wait long, I'll be seeing all of you very soon._

_Ciao for now ;)_

_Jim xx_

Greg was confused. No matter how much Sherlock might have said he was stupid, or slow, the DI was not in actual fact a moron. And he hated feeling like this, so out of the loop. Why would this be sent to him? What was even on these surveillance tapes? Well, that was what he was guessing they were, by the sound of it. If Moriarty had footage of Sherlock doing something unsavoury, or unusual, wouldn't it have been better for blackmail if he had sent it to the genius himself, or the papers? He couldn't even begin to wonder what was on them; maybe Sherlock had relapsed after the emotional onslaught the pool incident had brought on. What the letter could be suggesting… that couldn't be it. Lestrade knew of the little betting ring the yard had about Sherlock and John, hell, he was a part of it. Just a bit of fun, though he thought it would never happen. Sherlock just didn't do relationships. But… No matter what he said, Lestrade knew that he wasn't a sociopath.

He scrubbed a hand through his short hair, and decided, fuck it, I'll have to just watch the tapes to find out. As he was just about to insert the DVD labelled as 1 he was interrupted by a knock at his office door, Sally Donovan blocking the view to the sea of desks outside.

"Sir?" she had a slight frown on her face, her frizzy hair somewhat dishevelled and dark circles around her eyes: the standard look of a frazzled police officer.

"Yeah Sally? Any news on those house thefts?"

"Uh no Lestrade, I was just… those tapes you have there, any idea what they are? Only I was asked in the corridor by Gregson to put them on your desk, after his usual complaints that is." Sally rolled her eyes, and then they caught on to the letter still clutched faintly in Greg's hand and the look on his face. "Everything alright there? Oh let me guess, the freaks done something stupid, _again_. God, I thought Watson would be a good influence on him; maybe he would prevent him from going full psychopath. I swear it's gotten worse, they're as bad as each other!" Now Greg was completely side tracked, if he had to fill out another bloody 36 page long incident form out on them again he would… Groaning slightly, Lestrade fidgeted.

"What the hell have they done now? It better not be another _'oh, the criminal just happened to have a gunshot wound to the leg, we found him like this, Lestrade, now do shut up'_" He mocked in his best 'everyone's an idiot bar me' impression. Sally smirked incredulously at him.

"Nothing that bad sir, just the usual inappropriate giggles and intense eye gazing. Who has got the bets on this month? I swear the sexual tension is killing me." Sally said all this jokingly; she never thought that it would be true, never thought for a moment that someone would collect that £126 prize money.

Something in his brain stalled. God it was so obvious, it had been staring him in the face. He just didn't want it to be true. Moriarty, sending videos, Sherlock's face after the pool, the longing glances, the flirtatious teasing, the way they watched each other in a room. God no wonder the detective thought they were blind. He wanted to be happy for them, he did. John was such a good influence on Sherlock, and he actually seemed to genuinely care about him. The soldier who fell in love with the sociopath.

But he couldn't; not now their relationship was about to be put on show, when it was clear it was meant to be kept private, videos that Lestrade and two other associates acting as witnesses had to watch. Moriarty had given evidence, sent it in the sure fire way that it would have to be viewed.

"Sally… come in here and close the door. Sit down and don't say anything, just listen…"

She was mortified, Greg could see it. He didn't know the fine details of why, didn't know whether it was about pity, disgust at their relationship, disgust at Moriarty or what. He hoped it was a mixture of the former and the latter, she might come across as a bit of a bitch to Sherlock but she wasn't homophobic, at least he didn't think she was. Her hand was covering her mouth which was gaping slightly, and her eyes were trained relentlessly on the DVD cases sitting casually on the desktop, and flickered to and fro from them to the DVD that was resting in the player on a stand to the left of the desk.

"Greg… are you sure? Really? The freak and… God. We can't watch this. We can't. Who knows what's on there, look: what could fill bloody five disks worth? Is it sick that I want to watch? Shit, I hate curiosity. Just imagine it… sitting here at your desk, me, you, another poor sod all huddled round watching them slowly begin their relationship, the first kiss, the first time they get off… Fuck. It's sick. Moriarty is a sick twisted bastard; I never thought I'd feel sorry for the freak. Imagine john's face though, Mr 'I'm not gay'." She ended her tirade by giggling slightly hysterically, looking at Greg like he could do anything about this.

"Sally, calm it down. There is nothing we can do. The only thing I'm not sure about is whether or not to call the two of 'em here and tell them straight away, or watch the first one, just me and you, to gauge what they could be of, and stop as soon as anything… revealing could happen."

Greg was stuck, and this situation was rapidly becoming a problem. He was their mate, for god sakes, especially to John, who had joined him for a pint a couple of times every month. And Sherlock… well he felt like a father to him, to be honest, not that he would ever be caught dead saying that to anyone but John.

He just hoped Moriarty wouldn't ruin all their relationships beyond repair.


	2. A Perfect Morning-Not

Blearily opening his eyes, John mumbled sleep garbled sounds as he was dragged unceremoniously out of oblivion to the shrill echoes of the personalised ring tone 'cops and robbers'. He lay there dazed for a moment, not able to connect the dots. God he was just so comfortable and warm, a long line of a body pressed against his. He turned around slowly, searching out that blazing warmth and snuggled into the bare chest he found, pulling up the duvet over him and his bed fellow.

"John… John… _john_… _john!_" Sherlock, of course, was wide awake straight away, the only evidence of his rest was a large yawn emitted as he rolled slightly to encompass john in his long arms. Sherlock was amazed every time he woke up next to john; he couldn't believe he was actually here, 8 months down the line, still in a relationship. Him, THE Sherlock Holmes. God the sentiment was repulsive, or it would have been, if it was anyone but his John. Speaking of which… "Jooooohn its Lestrade, answer it, nooow!" as he was speaking, he softly butted his chin against the top of john's head, keeping rhythm with his whining, a soft smirk gracing his angular face.

"Mmm… nope. Not gonna work Sherlock. It's one of my only days I get to lie in, we're not on a case, your actually here in the bed with me for once, and I am not moving." He furthered his point by rubbing his nose up Sherlock's sternum, taking in a long breath, humming, and then slumping even further into him.

"John, it might be a case! An interesting one, maybe a double locked room murder suicide theft!" john sighed, huffing a breath directly across one of the nipples in front of him. He watched, fascinated, as the skin around it pebbled, the tiny hairs pin pricking around the small little nub. He couldn't help but smile at the loveliness that Sherlock was when he was excited, how that voice shook sound waves that seemed to lap crushingly at john's heart. Sherlock scoffed, and whispered deeply in his lovers' ear, trying to sound unaffected. "John, that's not going to work, I NEED a case." he was grinning slyly; john could imagine it perfectly. Oh he knew his partner was trying to wind him up, but it worked perfectly every single time.

"We just finished one! Two days ago!" He gave a playful little remonstrating nip to the pale chest, and hitched his leg further around the others hip, trapping him as Sherlock went to let go of him to reach towards john's phone. Their faces were now level as, after a few minutes of useless squirming, Sherlock gave up unwillingly. Teach him to try and get out of an ex-soldiers' ninja cuddle hold, john thought victoriously to himself. Sherlock pouted and cupped Johns face with his hands.

"But john, don't you see? It must be important, your phone. Is still. Ringing. How long is that infernal song?! It's been going for 1 minute and… 9 seconds. Why is it that anyway? Why choose _that_?" He was scrunching his nose up showing his utter disgust for john and his stupid charming ways. I mean, who personalises their ringtones now? And how did john even figure out how to bloody do it in the first place, that insufferable, _adorable _man was basically allergic to technology. At least, he seemed to be, if his two-finger typing was anything to go by. His trail of thought was interrupted as john giggled and placed a kiss on his nose, just as the phone stopped ringing.

"Love, if it's that important, Greg will ring _your_ phone after mine, let it ring once, hang up and then ring again. I still don't see why they don't just contact you first anyway, they used to."

"_Apparently_, the yard 'can't be dealing with stroppy drama queens', according to '_Greg'_" John snorted and tried to spit out his next sentence whilst laughing.

"Why- why do you always s-say his-his name like a swearword?! Oh ye-yeah, it's because you a-are a drama queen!" Sherlock kept a straight face and stared at john, secretly amused as his partner shook from his laughter, and said in his most pompous high class accent:

"John it's not nice to laugh in someone's face, is it now? Who's the one who is always talking about 'taking social cues' and '_sher_lock, don't degrade people just because you're bored' the hypocrisy is stifling John, I may not survive under the onslaught of such a travesty." He slowly began to grin, as john broke down in a fit of high pitched giggles that made his heart melt. He stared; sobering up as he again wondered how he deserved this beautiful, walking anomaly, who accepted him whole heartedly without restraint, put up with his eccentricities and cold exterior, who _loved him_ completely. John had stopped laughing by now, and was looking at Sherlock in confusion, wondering why he had that awestruck look on his face and rapt eyes. He stroked across his cheekbone with a finger, swirled shooting stars to land on his cupids bow: an angels kiss. John would never get over how gorgeous this man was to him, how essential he was to his happiness. Alive. Sherlock made him feel alive.

They didn't need words in this moment; they could communicate with each other so easily now, after living together as work partners and flatmates for four months, and even closer together as their other half for eight. John tightened his grip on Sherlock, and caressed his back with gentle hands, which travelled up to carefully grip bed-head curls that twirled lovingly around his fingers, like honeysuckle vines through a woodwork trellis. Their eyes were on fire, bodies burning up in the close quarters of the duvet, every inch of them pressed together as much as possible, as if they could absorb the other through osmosis. Breath hitching, words that weren't enough caught in his throat, Sherlock tipped john's chin up with his long fingers, knuckles rasping stubble, and burned. John's gaze flickered between kaleidoscope eyes and licked lips, the tension increasing in ever growing logarithms. No matter how many times they were intimate, the passion between them never waned, only grew as awkward inexperience was nurtured into perfect synchronisation.

"_John…" _Lips were parted, breath shared, eyelids lowering as they licked gently into each other's mouths, tongues coiling together. Sherlock let out a whimper as john's hand in his hair tightened further, the other hand travelling down smoothly to grip a firm, full arse cheek. Sherlock's fingertips searched out a bare chest, to play across sensitive scar tissue that he stroked reverently, a routine that he never failed to carry out every time they made love. An ode to what brought john to him: his soldier. He felt as John's hardness pressed insistently against his thigh, heard him moan as he adjusted to press against Sherlock's own arousal as they rutted through their pyjama bottoms. His cock was so hard already, throbbing slightly as they exchanged pleasure filled sighs between them. John felt like he was going to burst with lust. He wanted. God how he wanted him. Causing Sherlock to gasp out a breathy laugh, John rolled so he was on top of Sherlock and straddling his thighs, hands either side of his head, nose to nose as they grinned at each other.

"It seems you have me at a disadvantage, Dr. Watson." Sherlock purred out as he ran his hands up and down John's muscular thighs, wrinkling and gripping at the soft tartan material. John laughed deep in the back of his throat, a sound that never failed to make Sherlock shiver.

"Well Mr. Holmes, I-"

Sherlock's phone rang.

Their heads whipped around at the same time to stare at the innocent blackberry buzzing across the bedside table, a generic tune playing unaware. They looked back at each other in silence, faces carrying only a ghost of the previous happiness. Their minds ran through the same vein: please continue, don't stop ringing, please.

Of course, the phone stopped. Sherlock let his neck relax and his head thumped down onto the pillow, a heavy sigh parting his lips. "It's not like you didn't wish for an interesting case, love," John teased half-heartedly, running a hand down his face, panting as he tried to calm himself down. Sherlock scowled at him slightly, closing his eyes and cursing Lestrade for interrupting now of all times as the phone began to ring again.

"It better be at least a 9." He growled. Even though the work came first, Sherlock was sick of having to hide their relationship because of it. When they had first started, they had talked about this topic only briefly, as they were both in accord: only Mrs. Hudson would know, because they didn't want to put each other in danger. Moriarty had already pin-pointed John as one of his only weaknesses: who knows what other criminal classes would do with the information. That was Sherlock's worry.

But it was one that was steadily fading away into the background. He was tired of not being able to share his affection with John in front of others; lately he had found himself reaching out to take his hand, only pulling away at the very last second. No one noticed of course, they were all idiots. He planned on talking to John soon, see if he could talk him out of the ridiculous notion that Sherlock would fare better without anyone knowing, that he would try to run. He would be offended by how little faith John had in him, but knew it was in a way his own fault: he had planned to talk to him sooner, convince him and lay out all the facts, try to get past his own 'emotional constipation' as John put it. He had deduced that John _did _have faith in him; it was Johns own self that he couldn't seem to trust. Who knew trust issues could manifest themselves to be so misaligned. How could anyone trust Sherlock of all people when they didn't even trust their own reactions and feelings?

John was anxious about the press, and how it would affect Sherlock's work. He didn't want to be the reason that someone was prejudice against his partner, or didn't take him seriously. Hell, the yard already mocked them, even when they didn't believe their relationship could ever happen. Sherlock was fragile when it came to emotions, John thought. He needed the protection that came from pushing people away, and the fact that he had let John into his heart spoke volumes on how much Sherlock trusted him. John would happily bear the burden of knowing the real Sherlock Holmes, due to the fact that he thought that there was no burden at all. He had no idea how Sherlock would react if everyone knew. Bloody hell, if anyone somehow saw the man behind the mask, the man who loved completely but silently, and liked to snuggle on the sofa when thinking on a case, he might shut down. Or pull away from him completely, scared about the repercussions.

Now, John was not an insecure man. He knew that Sherlock loved him, but he was only human. After an especially taxing argument or on bad days when his PTSD would grip him by the throat and torture him with no sleep- the less said about those, the better -, he would sometimes get it into his head that he did not deserve Sherlock. That Sherlock was embarrassed to be seen with a man like John; broken, slightly grey haired and older: Normal, not amazing in the slightest. After these episodes, he always felt like a stupid, overbearing teenager. He _knew_ the reasons, hell, _he _didn't want to come out, as he was scared for Sherlock. What if Sherlock was feeling the same way?

All of this flashed through both of their heads in a moment: Sherlock had turned and shuffled towards the edge of the bed, dragging John with him, to pick up the damned mobile.

"Lestrade, as you are calling at such an early hour and using the emergency protocol, I deduce that you've bollixed something up. More than usual, I might add. Tell me, what have those moronic apes that you call officers done this time?" Sherlock smirked at him, a playful glint in his eye. Oh of course he didn't, John thought, sheepishly amused: he could just deduce that his reasons were 100% truthful. He realised in that moment that whenever he had these dark thoughts, Sherlock was unfailingly there: he would stay in bed instead of running off to his experiments, there would be a slightly tidier kitchen and he would smile at John more, make him laugh. Warmth bubbled through him at this insight; he felt stupid that it had taken him this long to notice it.

Sherlock was listening to Lestrade carefully, trying to figure out how serious this case was by the inflections in his voice: Pretty damn serious, if Sherlock was correct. His tone was low, as if he didn't want other people to hear, even though he was in his own office going by the lack of background sound that came through. A psychological response to distress and secrets to be kept on the down low. A personal matter then, something connected to himself, Sherlock and John. His London accent wavered around syllables like reflections distorted around a pool, rippling as though he was burdened by a heavy weight.

A pool at midnight.

John watched as Sherlock's expression became gradually darker, his smirk melting off his face slowly, as whatever solvent words Greg said dissolved the character of those animated lips.

"It's him isn't it?" Sherlock interrupted mid-way through Lestrades pathetic attempt to explain. "Moriarty's done something again, sent another message. What? And who for? Why would he, after all this time, suddenly reappear after not being able to be found? Lestrade! Come on, don't sit there gaping at your desk, I don't need a goldfish- I need _data_!" Sherlock found himself staring at John, wondering how a morning could be so perfect and turn out like this, one little phone call and the hologram of his self-image in his mind-palace ran frantic through the halls. He heard as if from a great distance away -_sound distorted through tunnels_- Lestrade spluttering something about tapes and letters and how he was sorry about watching something-

Sherlock snapped out of his panic before it could gain momentum. "Lestrade, I don't have time for your stupid mumblings, John and I will head to the yard. _Do not. Tamper. With anything._ Got it? I need everything exactly as it was if you can. He's back and I can't leave any room for mistakes… not like last time." He hung up, half formed sentences dying across the network. Looking over at John, he saw his eyes glitter with determination and reigned in fear. Always the calmest man in a bad situation, Sherlock thought with pride. John had got them out of plenty of untenable positions before, due to his immense self-control and combat skills. When the sirens call of danger beckoned with skeletal phalanges, John Watson was the first to heed it.

He made a vow, right then, staring into his lovers face, that he would not stop until Moriarty was finished. He would make sure his soldier was safe, and as happy as possible.

No matter who got in his way.


	3. The Elephant In The Room

"Shit, shit shit SHIT!" Lestrade growled as he thwacked his mobile onto the desk, ruminating on how he was going to clean this bloody mess up when Sherlock would not even let him get a word in edge ways. He had tried his best to put across the seriousness of the situation, but he kept fumbling his words. He and sally were still shocked and tongue tied after deciding to watch the first tape. The Television screen was poised in the corner of the room innocently, paused on a moment that Lestrade had never thought he would ever see: Flying pigs and him winning the lottery had seemed like larger odds then ever seeing Holmes… well. He had stopped the recording at a moment when it was getting too weird for even sally to digest, the extreme invasion of privacy pooling nervousness low in their stomachs.

"Well? What did he say? Is the freak and his… person coming?"

"Sally for Christ sakes they do have names you know! And yes, they're on their way, although they have no idea what's waiting for them. Well, unless I 'spose Sherlock's deduced it somehow or another, he guessed it was Moriarty almost straight away, the genius git."

The tableau that would greet anyone walking in was a grim one, although they would be used to that at the yard. The DI was sat in his chair, elbows across the cheap desk that served as the commanding post for his team. His head, graced with moonlit hair, was resting in his hand, the spikes glittering dully in the sombre light given out by the single bulb swaying mournfully from the stained ceiling tiles. Natural light was hard to come by, the blinds pulled shut as much as possible given that they were broken in several places, allowing sneaking tendrils to burn spotlights haphazardly around the room. Sally was sat opposite Lestrade, her chaired turned slightly in order to see the screen. She had slight marks between her eyes atop the bridge of her nose, where her bony fingers had massaged out her stress whilst also providing cover for her eyes if she needed it. Her other arm was snaked around her waist, hugging herself slightly for comfort and to stop herself from fidgeting due to the sexual tension that had permeated the room from the screen.

Both times, before Lestrade had called, and before they had decided to watch the first tape, they had sat in awkward silence: the first time preceding Greg getting up and pushing the disc in the rest of the way and snatching the remote off of the side, Sally and he having an internal argument with each other through their eyes about who would be brave enough to get up and do it. The second time was due mostly to shock, and not a small hint of regret at the dirty feeling they had once they had finished watching.

"Sir… I don't know if I can stay and watch this. I mean, we haven't even seen anything yet, and it's already making me a bit… I just… it's a bit demeaning you know? Who knew the frea- Sherlock, had feelings like that?"

"I'm sorry, I really am sally but I need you here. 1: you've already watched and I can't let you out of this room without signing some crappy paperwork: I'm not saying you would, but this could be all-round the office like a bad smell if I'm not careful, you get me? 2: you're my second witness, I should legally have a third in here but… this needs to stay hush-hush with as few people as possible for now. God, I'm gonna have to go through all these at least twice. And 3: my most important bloody one, I am not sitting in this room by myself with Sherlock and John watching this, no sodding way. Not after Sherlock has tried his best to become the 'Highly-functioning sociopath'" As sally listened, her sullen expression decreased until her face screwed up in slight horror.

"Fuck, boss that's all the reason you do need. Urgh. It's gonna be bad enough with the two of us here."

"What's going to be bad enough with the two of you? The amount of dead brain cells in the room?"

Donovan and Greg whipped their heads around to stare at the doorway, where Sherlock had just barged through with no warning, John on his tail looking slightly worse for wear. Sally would refuse to the end of her days the squeak that came out of her mouth at seeing them, and Lestrade would reject the idea that his face looked like it had been smacked by a wooden fence post."Lestrade! Where's the evidence? Chop-chop, you did call us here didn't you? You interrupted a very pleasant morning and I am in no mood to deal with your incompetence at this time. Moriarty is back, and I am hoping you register the seriousness of the matter." John blushed slightly and looked away before the other two could notice his reaction, but turned back as he registered the atmosphere in the room between the sergeant and the DI. That, and the choking noise Donovan made and the hysteric giggle that followed after.

"Sally? Is there something wrong or…?" John had become… if not friends with her but at least friendly acquaintances that shared good mornings and how do you dos. It had become a game between them for Sally to come up with hobbies that John could take up instead of going with Sherlock all the time, and after the first few times John accepted it for the banter that it had slowly developed into and that was that. Except that John was bemused right now, he had no idea what he was doing here apart from something to do with Moriarty, had no clue as to why Lestrade could not meet his eyes when he had pleadingly looked to his mate for answers, and was completely lost as to why Sally had suddenly developed into hysterics due to his expression. He looked over at his (secret) lover and found that he was scowling, that face he got when he did not understand something. He glanced over at John and raised an eyebrow at him, eliciting a shrug and a slight out stretch of the hands. Sherlock returned his eyes back to the pair and sneered.

"Oh so glad we amuse you Donovan, Anderson not available at the moment? His wife's home, though I suppose you would know after that close call last week." John and Lestrade sighed the same weary breath as the two began arguing back and forth, and John had to force down the smile that arose when his Sherlock got petty, a defence mechanism obtained when he felt like he was being made fun of.

He always reminded John of a sulky, hissing cat.

It was Sherlock and Donovan's own game anyway, to see who could insult the other the most. He tuned in as he registered with alarm the line that Sherlock's' mouth became as his face shuttered down all emotions.

"… Ha, well if you're so up on your high horse, freak, why don't you wait and see the 'evidence' Moriarty has blessed us with? You think you're such a genius, you're just a hypocritical arsehole, I don't know how john puts up with you, the sex must be amazing. Either that or he gets off on being masochistic." Sherlock's eyes widened and his nostrils flared slightly as he took a slight step back, coincidently so he was closer to John. John glared between Sally and Greg furiously. There was something not right going on here, Sally now looked sickened by what she said and John could see that she hadn't meant to come across so… harshly. This was more than the petty insults the two fired at each other normally, and he was getting sick of this waiting around. Lestrade tried to step in.

"Sally, that's going too far. Especially with recent events being as they are-"

" OK stop right there. I have had it with this situation, and you're bloody mumblings. Sally, that was uncalled for, apologise to Sherlock now."

"What? Why should I-"

John Glared.

"…Sorry." Sally mumbled.

Sherlock looked away from John to give a smug grin to her, and then redirected his eyes back to his partner. His eyes roamed over his body, noted the straight back posture and the no nonsense wide line of his shoulders. He left the best to last, John's face, his army face. The one that Sherlock loved to see and made him proud, whilst simultaneously making him a bit hot under the collar. His John may be small, but damn he could take charge of a room, he filled it and even Lestrade seemed to bow under that control. Not that his lover used it much. He would have to persuade him to use it more often, they hadn't really done that much role-play in the bedroom yet…

Sally stared at Sherlock and gave a confused look. She noticed that Sherlock, the freak, was blushing and…undressing John with his eyes. He was spacing out, and Sally wouldn't be surprised if he had started drooling right there and then. His eyes were gleaming like he was planning something, and she really didn't want to know. She would probably find out soon enough anyway, she thought, her expression sour. How the fuck had any of them not noticed during eight months? they were detectives for christ sake!

"Right. Greg. I'm gonna give you one minute to explain, in a concise and fairly quick manner, what the hell is going on here. Then, we are going to discuss the matter like the adults that we are. Got that? All three of you? Yes, Sherlock, I'm bloody including you too. Right. Begin."

And with that, Captain John Watson crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, a hard expression on his face that said he had the patience of a soldier and of a doctor, which added to form that of a saint.


	4. Bug-Eyed

"Greg... I'm still waiting." After watching Sally and Lestrade stare at him in slightly awed shock, John uncrossed his arms and strode over to grab a chair from beside the shut door. He plonked it down unceremoniously behind Sherlock, took hold of his elbow and forced him down into the chair.

"sit."

Sherlock, wide eyed and too flustered to put up an ounce of fight, sank bonelessly down until he was slumped in the cold, cheap plastic. He unthinkingly reached out and grasped johns hand, squeezing it slightly to caution the doctor. He let go surreptitiously and was surprised yet glad when John reached to take hold of his shoulder and left it there. Lestrade gazed at the two men in front of him, strangely proud of them. John had always known how to handle Sherlock, and Sherlock had always known when to back down with him, something he had never done or been able to understand with anyone else. In a way he was calmed by this. Seeing the brave front the both of them put up reassured him that nothing would endanger their relationship, certainly not Moriarty. They were perfect for each other, he thought, and knew that Sherlock had now become a good man, not just a great one. He gave a grim smile and readied himself for whatever would happen next. Just as he was about to start on his revised speech, Sally -of course- had to jump in and spoil things.

" well, you've chosen a great time to become unobservant, fr- Sherlock. Go on, have a look around and deduce it. Then maybe you can tell that soldier of yours to back down for one minute, so that we can continue our jobs of baby sitting you two clowns. God sake we're trying to help you here!"

John bristled slightly but became more worried with each passing second. Neither of the two officers wanted to spit out what was happening, and the stray glances that hit throughout every part of the room except to Greg's upper left, and, incidentally, his and sherlock's eyes were speaking volumes to him. Just as he was about to man up and look at what must be the television screen, Sherlock jumped under his hand as if he'd been electrocuted.

"Oh!..."

Sherlocks first reaction was to be kind of... Dissatisfied. Disappointed almost. Was that all this was? Why were they making such a big deal out of it? So what, it was an image of the two of them at 221B, sat on the sofa like any normal night. It was paused at a point with John looking earnestly at him, elbows resting lightly on his ripped-jean clad knees. His hands were under his chin, fisted to hold it up so he could look into Sherlocks eyes. He himself had an almost shy hint to his countenance, dashed with some crazed look in his eye that spoke of a storm of his once-thought-stupid feelings raging through his mind palace. His one hand was clutching the end of his shirt, worrying creases into the silk material that looked- what? Damaged? The other was grasping John's wrist, looking like he was hanging on achingly tight. Except... Wait... No. No.

Sally sat back smugly and waited for the penny to drop. Even though she felt sorry for them, it didn't mean she couldn't get some enjoyment out of winding them up and watching their reactions play out. This was going to be good, she thought as scenarios ran throughout her head. Her favourite so far was Sherlock shutting down completely, his vocabulary being reduced to keyboard smash letters, and the army man fainting from the shock. It was all a bit of fun, wasn't it? Nothing serious would come of it, just an embarrassment waiting for all of them. The less Sally thought about that, the better. Lestrade was once again muted, there was no point in trying to prevent this train wreck from occurring. To be honest, it was easier for him if Sherlock just figured it out, no more stuttering and looking like a fool in front of him. He watched sympathetically as Sherlock reacted and john stared down at him like he always did, a slight, affectionate tilt to the head that said: go on, you git, tell me what you deduced now. After his initial (what Lestrade liked to call his deduction gasp) sound of enlightenment, Sherlocks face morphed into an array of configurations, ranging from confusion, derision and then a slightly horrified look as he paled with each passing moment.

The little room holding the four of them held its breath and waited until someone broke the tense silence. The four walls looked on in pity as the blonde shortish one grew steadily scared at the sight of the pallid cheeks on what must be his partners face. Friends didn't look at each other like that, did they? They could see his thin lips moving, no sound accompanying them, as he mouthed a silent question.

Sherlocks deductions steadily grew, an avalanche that threatened to crush him completely. It was like earlier, but a hundred, thousands, times worse. His ears were ringing slightly with the deafening silence that surrounded him physically, whilst mentally his mind clamoured with cymbals and car crashes, a secret meeting a midnight encounter a false betrayal an explosion a surge of water a gasp oh god please no john-  
A loud slap rang through out the room as John snapped his partner out of his growing hysteria, the doctor part of him coming to the forefront and giving him an unnatural calm.

"Sherlock... Sherlock, I need you to take some deep breaths for me, okay? That's it, in through your nose and out your mouth, just like we practiced. Lestrade, get me some water for him. Sally, come here and try and uncurl his fingers, he'll make his palms bleed otherwise."

As john slapped him, Sherlock suddenly resurfaced from the overwhelming mire of his head to find that he was on the verge of a slight panic attack. This wasn't the first time this had happened. Too much data, mixed with a load of feelings chucked on him tended to cause his mind to need a slight reboot. This was why he refused point blank to take the tube, no matter how much john had complained. He now knew better, after they had been forced down there for case. That was the first time john had seen this reaction, only one and a half months into living with each other, which he had handled with surprising skill.

He directed his mind outwards to observe what was going on. John was knelt in front of him, his hands bracketing his own face and fingers slightly stroking the ridge of his zygomatic arches as he talked him through breathing. It must have been at least a minute since he had last actually been able to see beyond the cacophony occurring in his skull. Sally's reaction surprised him. She was looking at him worriedly (for her) as he came back, her hands holding his wrists tightly as she counted out his pulse which was just starting to slow. He could see by the indents made in her fingers and the barely there pale pressure marks that she had pried apart his fisted hands. Lestrade had his back to him, filling a tiny plastic cup with the bottle of water that always adorned the DIs desk.

He couldn't stand it. They thought that he was weak, that he had panicked because of them knowing about John and himself. Their stupidity would have disgusted him, but he could deduce that john was also doubting himself, that he thought that all his worst imaginings had become true and Sherlock would just shut down on him and show him the door.

He needed to stop this. Now.

"Would all of you just SHUT UP! Don't move, don't think, you're all WRONG."

John could feel that his calm would desert him, as soon as Sherlock had opened his eyes from their scrunched position and he saw that brilliant brain come back on line. He had reacted instinctively, quickly, a medic on the battlefield as shells and IEDs exploded all around him. Now he had time to think, and that in his mind was a bit not good. As Sherlock had hyper ventilated in front of him, John had to see the screen. Was it Moriarty standing over the dead body of one of their few friends? Was it footage of a kidnapping?

No.

John recognised it immediately, that memory embedded deep where he could never forget it.

The start of them. The start of sherlockandjohn.

He fell on his arse with a cry of alarm as Sherlock shouted and sprung from his seat like a maniac jack in the box, his long limbs still managing to look elegant.

" DONT YOU SEE!? DONT YOU ALL GET IT!? Moriarty knows. John is in even more danger now because of me, just because I have chosen him. He's got cameras everywhere, documenting our every move, watching. John, get up and help me look, you know my methods by now!"

John felt like he would get physical whiplash from just watching Sherlock pace a flaming line into the floor, and emotional from how his expectations of Sherlocks reaction were widely off base.

"...what? Sherlock I don't..."

"John don't be an idiot. use that brain of yours I know that you have, I wouldn't love you if you were part of the drooling mass that makes up this godforsaken planet."

He was dreaming, he must be. Sherlock had just said he loved him, albeit slightly rudely, but none the less. In front of the others. He said it in front of the others. God what was going on? He tried to think from Sherlocks point of view, the one where his own stupid insecurities did not play a part. Well... Moriarty now for definite knew John was his weakness. Yeah, that was slightly disconcerting. What else? Well, John thought with horror and a sort of sick mortification, Moriarty had infiltrated 221B, their sanctuary, the only real place that they could let their relationship blossom and grow. He had cameras at least in the entrance hallway and their living room. Oh god... John got off of his bum and jumped up, ready for action. He could analyse his own feelings about this sudden coming out later.

"Cameras. You two, close your mouths and help us look for the cameras, there must be some in this room, Moriarty loves to play games. He's probably watching us right now and we're putting on his favourite a show."

Sherlock grinning at him happily, his eyes shinning as he watched John's thought processes. He understood. And he hadn't even had to give the disgustingly mushy speech he had been saving for this moment... In fact, he may just have to as a reward to his clever John.

He bounded over to him and revelled in the wide eyed look John gave him seconds before he kissed him enthusiastically yet chastely on the lips, hands framing his face.

"YES! John you're brilliant! You check over there in that quarter," at this he gave a smack to John's firm arse to get him moving. John gave a surprised yelp: he had always wanted to do that.

Still grinning slightly, he turned to the still gob smacked man at the desk.

"Lestrade, once you've recovered you admittedly pea sized brain, check in that corner and all around your desk. We're looking for anything suspicious, anything out of place. Even if it's a bloody pen you don't recognise, I want you to inform me."

Greg didn't think that Holmes could surprise him anymore, not after five years of knowing him. As always, he thought wrong. Once he had recovered, he grimaced and began his search, methodically sweeping the place with his eyes first and then running his hands over every surface he came across. Whilst he did that, he heard Sherlock order Sally around using thinly veiled insults as usual. The fact that Sally did not argue back just showed how far her state of shock had gone.

"Sherlock, I can't find anything, there's nothi-"

his hand came across a slight bump hidden in a divot of his desk.

"Wait... I think I got something here..."

His fingers scrambled to get under the raised surface, picking at the tiny, double sided adhesive strip that he could feel. It gave just as his nail began to splinter and he cursed slightly under his breath. He stood up on creaky legs that had seen better days: not getting any younger, he moaned at himself.

"Would ya look at that... Sherlock, I think I have an audio bug here. Bloody tiny thing."

He placed it on the ground and stomped on it in disgust, without Sherlock having to tell him. Sherlock gave him a small nod. There was no point keeping it to try and get a placement on Moriarty, the mastermind would have planned for all outcomes, no matter how arrogant he seemed. He had also found an audio device, and two cameras that had been placed in expert hiding places. For once Sherlock was glad that his brother had a perchance for spying: it had taught him everything to know about bugging devices and where to place them. They rotated around several times so they all got a chance to look in the same area.

Sherlock was not taking any chances.

At the end of the search, a surprising amount had been found, the floor littered with crushed circuitry. Even Sherlock looked taken aback by the sheer number. He was sure that they had got all of them, but if they hadn't, well, they had done all they could. They all gravitated to the centre of the room, standing in a loose circle apart from where Sherlock brushed shoulders and hands unconsciously with John.

"Hey f-Sherlock, you think that's all of them? He seems like even more of a psychopath than you, and that's saying something."

Sally had a perfectly shaped eyebrow raised at him, although she wasn't look at him in the face. She was staring at where their hands slightly touched, where Sherlock had curled a finger around John's thumb. She still wasn't sure whether this was one huge joke or not, although even she thought that she would have to be the biggest idiot in the world to not believe their love for each other. It was just... She could not merge this Sherlock with the one that resided in her head. In there, he was a cruel man who was too clever for his own good, a junkie looking for his next big fix. Whether or not that fix lead to murder, Sally was positive that some day it would have. But... Since John, that view had changed. In the last couple of months, it had been changed again, as Sally had seen the freak almost be... Happy. And wow, that was a huge concept right there. Sherlock, happy in someone else's company? Ridiculous.

It didn't seem ridiculous anymore.

Because she could see it. See the way that they just... Fitted. It shouldn't work. Sherlock was a cold, almost skeletal man who radiated the kind of posh, up his own arse beauty that would not look out of place on the catwalk. He had the arrogance to match it and all. He was a super genius, not caring about people, only taking cases for the thrill of the chase and the more gruesome the better. John was warm, full muscled and short, and where Sherlock was beautiful he was cute, the guy next door. John was so caring about peoples health, yes he enjoyed the cases but he was always there for the victim, dead or alive. They were polar opposites, the love of danger and their dark humour the only thing they seemed to have in common. It was like they were the sun and the moon, Sally thought. Sherlock was warmed by John's presence, and seemed to glow from his praises since the very first case. John was enhanced by Sherlock, and when he needed to step back and stop caring so much in order to think, Sherlock would dim his brightness, but never extinguish it.

And here was another thing that Sally had to come to terms with: she was jealous.

Not of their situation, oh god no, they could keep that. Not of one or the other, she wasn't carrying a secret torch for the men. It was them. Why couldn't she find someone? Sherlock had a boyfriend. Sherlock. And she couldn't even keep an adulterating bastard from breaking up with her. Where was her other half? The sun to her moon?

Sherlock watched as all of this crossed Donovan's face, and couldn't help but feel sorry for her alongside the smugness. But, this was all getting off topic: Moriarty was back and they were standing here ruminating about his and John's relationship. He could see easily that they had questions, hell even John had questions of him. The other two would surely find out the answers to theirs soon. He couldn't help but feel a flutter of sickness down in his gut. If his deductions were correct... Then, well, he and John were in for the most mortifying day of their existence. Donovan and Lestrade would not react this dramatically to just one video of them where all they did was talk, cry and hug.

There had to be more to this, and Sherlock for once did not want to find out.


	5. Declarations And Distractions

The four of them stood there in awkward silence for a moment, all of them craving answers to different questions, none of them making eye contact until John decided to turn towards Sherlock and pretend, as much as it was possible, that they were alone in the room. He cleared his throat and raised his eyes to Sherlock's, dark blue irises catching lighter ones.

"Sherlock I..." John sighed heavily and licked his lips. "I know this isn't the time for this... But, I just-"

Oh, so they were going to have this out straight away, were they? Sherlock would have preferred to wait, at least until he had had a chance to see the letter Moriarty had sent them, but that was not going to happen. I suppose if they discussed this now, they could save time later.

"John stop. You're right, this isn't the time for this."

Sherlock watched his partners face fall slightly and swallow back words as he looked away from him. He let John process this for a bit, but he couldn't stand that look on his face anymore so he hurriedly carried on his sentence.

" but I will make time for you John, your happiness is essential to me and I fear that I have not settled your mind with details pertaining... Us and the... The sentiment that I... Um, feel, for you. I have deduced by your conduct recently that you are slightly worried about the veracity of this, and that you think that my worries are... Truthful yet pointless pertaining to the danger that criminals would exhibit if our relationship was known, as you get kidnapped on a semi-regular basis even without that knowledge. Following this incident and ones recently, I believe that you are mostly correct. Viewing that, I have come to the conclusion that we should make our partnership public ourselves and on our terms before that decision is taken away from us by the content of these tapes, as i would not be surprised if the 'consulting criminal' sold this information to the press or to slightly less...savoury places. That does not mean that I will sit back and let him, and once I have viewed the evidence I hope to follow up on all lines of investigation, no matter what it takes."

Sherlock took a deep breath and congratulated himself on his verbal prowess, waiting for John to agree with him so that they could get on with it and stop dragging this encounter out unnecessarily, whilst in front of an audience. He may need to call Mycroft for damage control, the fat git could do with something to keep him occupied.

John physically leaned away at this, he was so taken aback that he just stood and blinked for a couple of seconds, shoulders still squared where he had been anticipating a degrading speech on the futility of emotions. He twisted slightly so that he could see whether or not Lestrade and Sally had heard the same thing or that he was going mental. Nope, not mental yet, going by the look on their faces. John had really not expected this, he felt like all he knew about the detective and his privacy was being turned up on its head.

Sherlock felt like an even bigger imbecile than before. He had already admitted to himself that John was still a bit of a blind spot in his deductions, especially those related to emotions, but he had never thought John would believe he was capable of just swiping away his lovers feelings like an annoying gnat. He was becoming a bit fed up, actually, and more embarrassed by the minute. John was not that stupid or blind, surely, unless Sherlock had been completely wrong and John did not want their relationship to become public news. No, no he knew John, he would never use him like that, like a toy that could be thrown away at anytime. No that was stupid, stupid, stupid. No harm in collecting evidence though, was there.

"John... I don't understand. Why are you so surprised? We've been in a relationship for most of the year, how could me declaring my feelings possibly alarm you? What, is it not real if only we know? Are the actions that occur behind closed doors not special or affirming enough for you?"

Watching Sherlock with increasing guilt slowly build up his walls and protect his self behind sneered words, John realised that he had to explain fast, otherwise he would be closed off for a while and he did not want to go through this ordeal with an upset Sherlock on his hands. They had to stand together, otherwise Moriarty would win and break them apart. Not caring that Donovan and Greg were watching Sherlock in avid wonder, as if staring at a rare animal, John pressed his palms to Sherlocks face and stepped closer, enough so that he was looking up at his boyfriends turned away chin.

"Sherlock. Look at me. Please."

Sherlock, slowly tilting his head towards John at a glaciers pace, clenched his jaw and tried to deduce what John was going to say. He couldn't, although he detected concern and a healthy dose of shame in his eyes.

"Sherlock, I love you. I would tell everybody in the world about us if that made you happy, and I would have done at the beginning, even before we got together and stopped being idiots. But... I guess that I got it into my thick skull that you somehow felt ashamed to admit being with me. I know, I'm stupid right? I know that you love me. I know that you would do anything to keep me safe, without being constricting or clingy. well, at least most of the time. I know it in the way you play all my favourite songs on the violin, in the way that you are always there to keep the nightmares at bay. Yeah, I know you can be a right dick sometimes, and you drive me up the wall on even the best days. Especially when you steal my gu- well you know..."

at this point John cleared his throat sheepishly as Sherlock widened his eyes and made a shushing motion with his lips.

"And despite knowing all that, i love you so completely that I don't know how I survived before you. I almost didn't."

John gave a sad smile that portrayed his own self loathing, and Sherlock could not at this point stop himself from wrapping his arms around his blogger, hands resting naturally, casually as if a move that had been executed a thousand times before, on his waist. Their eye contact was extremely intense, more so then Lestrade or Donovan had ever seen between the two men. They debated on whether or not to give the couple some privacy, but that had long gone out the window.

In fact, privacy would soon be at distances as to be invisible from said window.

The next words soon burst their eardrums, yet it was Sherlocks facial expression which shocked them: it looked like he was drifting into unknown heights of feeling as they watched his lips shake, his eyes glisten and his hands tighten their grip.

" I thought that I wasn't good enough for you, hell I still think that. What I'm trying to say in a round about way is that I'll always be here, and you have always been enough for me, more than enough. I know how you like to gather the facts, so I'll give you one: I will never stop loving you. No amount of grand declarations or silly flowers or ridiculous valentines cards will change that. No stomach-churning experiments or body parts in the fridge. You don't have to change sweetheart, not for me, not for anyone. Although it would be quite nice if you do the washing up or the shopping every now and again. So... Yeah. That's... Well."

John finished off gruffly, his voice a bit thick and a weak grin on his face.

"John..."

Sherlock felt overwhelmed. He could not have dreamt this happening to him, not in all his destructive yo- yo life. He was an ex drug addict, an absolute arse hole who hadn't cared about anyone before John had turned up out of the blue. He was selfish and arrogant to an extreme level, and had only just realised that he was not the sociopath he thought he had been. John had changed him, and he may not have welcomed that fact at first but he now craved for John's approval, the change not being forced or asked for by John himself; rather, Sherlock had wanted to change for John, to be someone that John Watson deserved.  
And here was his partner, saying he did not deserve Sherlock of all people, whilst he stared at him like a half whit instead of getting on his knees and worshipping the man. Who cared who saw? He had waited for ages to tell John, and now was the time. Hmm... Maybe not right here, who knows what had been on this floor. No point getting his dress trousers dirty when he could wait until they got home to get on his knees. Maybe then he could use his mouth for something other than talking to please his doctor. Decision made, he pulled John by the hips until Sherlock could perch on the edge of the chair he had been sat in, John standing in between his thighs. He grabbed his hands and held them tightly, so tight that John's fingers changed from golden sunshine to bone white, bleached by the strength of Sherlocks grip.

"You must understand John, I don't know how to convince you otherwise. I'm no good at this. You're the first person who I've ever felt remotely close to in a loving way. Yes, before you say it, there is Mrs. Hudson of course and Lestrade to an extent- don't look at me like that Greg, I know about your little 'paternal' conversations with John,"

"John what the hell? I thought you said you wouldn't tell him!"

Lestrade shuffled his feet even more than before as his embarrassment increased to unknown levels. Was there a point at which you could die of it? Greg didn't know but he was sure that if it was possible, he would be the one to find out from first hand experience, and probably today. It wasn't even bloody 10 am yet, and his coffee was no where near strong enough to deal with this dramatic shit.

Sherlock peered around John's body and scoffed.

"Of course he didn't tell me, I am a detective for a reason other than to save your so called reputation from diminishing due to the 'impossible' cases thrown your way. Now shut up, I'm trying to tell John how much I love him and you're ruining my speech flow. Where was I..? Oh yes..."

John was flickering his eyes between Lestrade and Sherlock incredulously as his partner returned his gaze to him with a completely straight face. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He settled on doing a bit of both, laughing breathlessly, staring at his lover with a telling wetness in his eyes as Sherlock looked on, bewilderingly ruffling a hand through his hair.

"John, why are you doing that, stop it, I need to get this out before it takes up too much short memory space up, it's already backed up in 3 different places... No! stop giggling! This is a serious matter, John, please just quieten down and listen."

John saw that Sherlock was now becoming desperate, his bum almost hovering off of the chair to get closer as his hands tugged John impossibly closer so that his whole vision was filled with the sun mottled forrest and sky ensigns of a tortured soul.

"Alright, alright, settle down love. I am listening, don't worry, so please go on. It's not often I get treated to a nice soliloquy on how amazing I am."

He grinned, trying to lighten up the situation a bit more, knowing that Sherlock was getting unbearably frustrated due to his mirth. Sherlock felt himself become calmer, although he was still a bit miffed that John might not be taking him seriously enough.

" Really, was that so hard? I uhh... Wait. Wait."

For god sake this was taking too long! Who could have known how difficult this silly stuff was!? Sherlock huffed, looked away from John, entered his mind palace quickly and then found the document he was looking for. It was crumpled and ink stained, as if it had been handled numerous times: more scribbles and corrections than actual words.

"Ah! Yes got it."

Donovan was now seriously considering leaving at this point, muttering to herself about how much of a freak he was was not helping her mood at all. Sherlock darted his eyes over to her and she watched as he clenched his jaw, his face overcome by burning determination, meeting John's eyes once again.

"What I feel for you is magnified by millions compared to them. You- you never want to irreversibly change me, and you accept me as I am. John, you are much more of an idiot than I thought you were if you for one second believe that you don't deserve me. You are wrong, so laughably wrong. It is I who does not deserve you or your love. I know I shouldn't accept it, I should do the right thing and let someone else handle your amazing, human heart... But because I am selfish I will take that heart for myself and hoard it closely to my chest, right next to mine. I didn't want to... lose you. I want to keep you to myself, cling to you completely and I thought that if everyone knew, they would try their hardest to take you away from me, warn you and then you would suddenly realise that you deserve so much better. Or worse, take you away from me without your consent and harm you before I could find you. But you are mine, John Watson, and I hope to show you off to the world as such."

A single tear ran down Johns weathered face, his smile blindingly bright. He couldn't handle the distance between them any longer, so he tugged Sherlock up off the chair, pressed himself fully along his lean body, clutched at his curls and snogged him stupid. Sherlock gasped quickly and then whimpered, attacking John's mouth with all the pent up passion he felt for him, all the love that had been behind those desperate words. Meaningless mutterings weren't his forte anyway, words could be manipulated, could be misinterpreted and he would much rather express himself with the language of gestures. He could finally, finally show off his doctor to everyone, show everyone who ever doubted him that he could manage to win the love of this man. He now knew that no one could put John Watson off him. He clutched at him tightly, hands fluttering about all over his body like the beatings of hummingbirds wings. However, John quickly turned the kiss into a slow, intimate exploration, calming him with stroking hands that glided and ran liquid gold up and down his spine. The kiss slowed even further, so slow that they ended up just sharing breaths and little kitten licks, their eyes now open as they ran their swollen mouths along the others in a imitation of an Eskimo kiss, lips spread into grins.

"Alright you two, that's enough. Seriously, you can stop now, I'm afraid I'm gonna get cavities you soppy buggers."

"I'm not that much of a soppy idiot, honest! We have eight months of frustration to make up for after all."

Grinning slyly, John winked at sherlock and turned to give Donovan a cheeky smirk. Sherlock blushed slightly and looked at John from under his lashes and messy fringe, biting his lip in a move that was clearly initiated to tease.  
John adored him. He could be so shy sometimes, yet in other circumstances could be completely in command, without any reservation at all. This had been his first chance to do some serious PDA, and couldn't wait to see all the ways he could make Sherlock look exactly like that. Hell, as soon as they were out of here John was going to grab his hand and not let go for the entire journey home. No more tension and longing thickening the atmosphere while their hands were mere centimetres apart, thank fuck for small mercies. Sally curled her lip.

"Yes, please do spare me, I don't think I want to be here when you unleash all your pent up frustration on Lestrades desk, thank you very much. I'll probably get a show of that later, knowing my luck and this... Moriarty's sick sense of humour."

"Oh and to answer your previous question of half an hour ago, frankly, Sally, the sex is bloody amazing."

"Huh, I guess he must be a psycho freak in bed as well then. I guess if that's what your into John, you can keep it to yourself."

Sally could have kicked herself. Shit, her brain to mouth filter really needed some work. In the blink of an eye, John became completely serious, staring at her dead on. The change on his face was terrifying, and Donovan could not look away, lest she was vaporised into dust on the spot.

"One more thing Sally, if you ever call him a freak again, if anyone at the yard dares to call my partner a psychopath", he flicked his eyes over to Greg and back again, "or insult him in any way possible while I am in hearing distance, they will live to regret it."

Lestrade must keep pet crickets in his office, for Sherlock could have sworn he heard their chirping.

"... And on that lovely note, let's please get back to business, Lestrade. I can only deal with so much sentiment and my quota for the day has been by far filled up." Smirking he let go of John's waist and strode over to the items on the desk, though not before giving John a sweet, awkward kiss to the temple and smiling at him shyly, pleased as punch.


	6. Evidence and Innuendo

"When did the package arrive?"

Sherlock was now sitting in Lestrades chair, feet up casually on the desk as he leaned his head back and pressed his fingertips to his mouth. He was only now just managing to brush off the tension in the room, finding it difficult to get into his mind palace straight away. Surprisingly, John was helping. Sherlock had watched him suspiciously at first, worried that now everything was in the open John was going to change. But he was relieved when all he did was give Sherlock a small smile, lean his back against the door and cross his arms loosely: classic case mode behaviour and posturing, not the slightest change at all apart from a slightly happier expression. After nodding back, Sherlock had closed his eyes, ready to visualise the data.

"Well, it got to my office at around... Uh..." Lestrade looked at his watch, noted it was now 10:05, and replied "I suppose just under an hour ago, d'ya reckon, Sally? Not sure when it came to the yard, Gregson had it apparently."

"Yes sir, sounds about right. I put it on your desk as soon as he hoisted it on to me- the lazy bastard-. That was at five to nine."

John decided to chip in at this moment, already getting into the drill as if he was questioning a suspect with Sherlock. On cases where that happened, John always thought of the two of them as a well-oiled machine, each with their specific roles.

Most of the time, his partner would just eye them and their surroundings up, deducing whilst also causing the suspects to feel on edge and flustered. John saw it as the bad cop good cop routine, but had refrained from ever saying that out loud again. He enjoyed not being glared at so hard his ears may catch on fire, and after making Sherlock watch those police action movies...well, John believed the term to be 'not impressed'. In fact the term may be 'John, this is utter rubbish, I can't believe how anyone could conduct a successful questioning with this amount of something that is meant to be called intelligence' and so on and so on, until John had a lump of sulking Sherlock on his hands. Not his best idea ever, he had to admit.

Anyway It was his job to seem the calm, friendly one, asking questions that on the surface seemed simple yet were extremely effective, sandwiching and toning down the big ones that Sherlock shot out of his mouth that lead to that all important final answer. On a few occasions they would have to flirt, yet they both did that when there wasn't any other option. John always felt guilty after for leading the witness on, and Sherlock just couldn't be bothered to put on a new face when he could get the answers in some other, non-social way.

There was even one case a couple months back where they had been undercover at a health resort, and had had to both flirt at the same time to a woman who had a predilection for threesomes in hot tubs. John cringed mentally as he remembered how awkward it had been, the two of them had only been together for three weeks at the time and they were standing around in skimpy trunks pretending to be interested in another woman, Sherlock still technically a virgin and John still grappling with his new sexual arousal at the male body (Well, the body of the frustrating man who lived with him, anyway). It was only Sherlock's quick thinking that had allowed them to pull out at the last minute: the suspect had unwittingly showed off a bit too much skin than John would have liked, but thankfully Sherlock noticed a small scar just above her admittedly large cleavage that had linked her to the crime in someway or another, something to do with a cult that lured men away in pairs to be sacrificed. John didn't remember the details.

He was too busy trying to not get an erection at the sight of his new boyfriend in sleek black speedos.

John tried to keep a straight face as his imagination lead him to unwillingly visualise them having to flirt with Lestrade whilst wearing all sorts of ridiculous costumes. Bloody hell, he could just see his face! Scolding himself, John pressed his lips together to try and keep the giggles in, only just managing by changing a choked laugh into a hum.

"Hmmm...Ah... Seen any disturbances or anything unusual around lately? When do you think he was able to get all the cameras in here?"

"John, Moriarty would not be so sloppy, no point questioning Lestrade. And stop thinking about the cult case, it's distracting. Now come here and have a look at this note... I want to see what you think of it."

Sherlock sighed and waved John over to him. The note... There was something, something he couldn't quite... He looked up as John snorted in a sardonic laugh after scanning over the small paragraph.

"Nice try Jim, but you won't break up this crime fighting duo anytime soon."

John grinned at him and it clicked into place.

"OH! John, brilliant again!"

"I- what really? What did I say?"

Sherlock again jumped up and started pacing, and John watched as he muttered to himself, getting lost in the changing expressions that moved fluidly like a technicolour waterfall, shimmering with excitement at the thrill of the game, a key piece of evidence being eroded away by the great tidal power that was Sherlock's brilliant mind.

Lestrade also watched, although with a growing sense of frustration as the genius bastard stayed silent. He couldn't find anything in the letter when he looked at it, and he had read it so many times it was almost memorised. How could Sherlock have got something just by reading it once? He was such a git, leaving them in suspense like this, but Greg couldn't help but feel some sort of... Fatherly pride at his consulting child-detective, so he stayed quiet and hoped that Sherlock's love of praise from John outweighed his love of the dramatic. Lestrade was extremely optimistic, especially after the little scene he had witnessed a couple of minutes ago. Christ, if only his wife was even a fraction as devoted to him as those two were to each other. His marriage would be frankly sunshine and rainbows, not left in the gutter where divorce papers were stained with the blood, sweat and tears he had put into keeping their relationship a float, smeared with all the shit she had put him through. At least they didn't have any kids, thank fuck, he would have hated to put them through the blazing arguments about the house. Only a certain government official who remained anonymous managed to convince the harpy to retract her claws from his whole life savings.

Shit, he was getting off topic. He sighed and rubbed his eyes hard enough to create little blue spirals, destroying the images laid out on his eyelids. Back to the case. Back to the tapes... Oh fuck, there were another couple of images he was going to have burnt onto his retinas soon. Best get it over with; he did not want to dwell on his best friends sex life thanks very much, although he really couldn't help the curiosity.

Sherlock, having sex.

With John.

Sherlock.

How did they get from point A to B? Was it awkward? Did Sherlock just drop trousers and deduce John into a fit of passion? He just couldn't get his head round it. Did John order him about? Lestrade didn't know why, but he just couldn't visualise their sex life as something normal. God, he had just sometimes stupidly thought that he didn't even have genitalia, let alone sexual desires. He was a bloody alien, all slanting chameleon eyes and ridiculous limb proportioning. Sherlock. With John. Having sex. Penises...

Christ.

Right, Gregory, just shut up now. Oh bollocks, Sherlock's now looking, smirking little sod. Great. That's just dandy, caught thinking about their sex life. He hadn't had sex for bloody ages and he finds out his best mate's been shagging his surrogate child for 8 months, what else is he meant to bloody think about! He wished Donovan would just do something now, anything, but she was deciding to be quiet, now of all times, when he needed her to be her usual provocative self. Say something, anything, Lestrade thought desperately, his mind was now going in circles and his paranoia was only growing as Sherlock's smirk became more pronounced with each second.

"As Lestrade seems to be thinking himself into a coma, I better tell you what I noticed. Wouldn't want everyone's favourite DI dying of a stroke due to over heating his little head."

Well, for Sherlock that was actually quite nice, he was expecting him to lay out every thought in Lestrade's lizard brain for the world to see. What he found out must have been exciting.

"Alright that's enough, Sherlock. Now gimme any info you got."

"He's made a mistake! It's so obvious! He predicted our reactions all wrong, as John just said, nothing would break us apart, and Moriarty has been going on the evidence he's seen in these CCTV tapes. Namely, he's seen a beginning of a relationship by an apparent sociopath and no direct declarations of love, none that he could see or hear anyway, and a refusal into going public. He is a psychopath, he doesn't understand these emotions himself and he is under the impression that I'm just like him and only with John for some reason other than companionship, maybe as a ruse or a way of keeping someone for the rent. No idea, just speculation at this point... But It all fits!"

"Right okay, when you take it out of context like that-"

John was cut off at that point, as Sally decided to finally throw in a comment.

"And how do we know that your not just a psychopath, hmm? How do we know that your not using John for other reasons?"

"Sergeant Donovan, if your gonna still believe that, then get out. And sign these papers before you do. I won't have you talk to them like that, are you blind? Did you really just not witness what happened not 10 minutes ago or what?"

Sally held her hands up in a protective gesture while two of the men glared at her. Surprisingly, Sherlock was just looking at her in bemused interest, no doubt already having deduced what she was going to say next and not be bothered to be offended.

"Sir, I'm not saying I believe that view, but others definitely will when they hear. And when a criminal genius thinks that... Well, others will probably go along with it, even though he's an evil bastard. I may not like him much, but I can tell that Sherlock is serious about this and... I'm just sorry it had to be like this guys, I really am."

She said this last sentence very quietly, staring down awkwardly at Sherlock and John's shoes. John was actually quite touched by this. If even Sally could see past her prejudices, maybe others could as well, given time. But she was correct, john thought bitterly, he was the only one to believe in Sherlock's emotions, to see past the sociopathic front he put on. The only one to bother to nurture that neglected, shrivelled seed of intimacy and affection that was within his blackened heart.

"Unfortunately Greg, Sally's right on the money. I can't believe I'm saying this, but maybe it would be easier to show people the videos? Not all of it, god no. Just... Snippets that we could pick out where we show true affection, put Sherlock in a better light ya know? One of the reasons we kept this a secret was so that he didn't get any bad press, and I won't stand for it now the issue has been forced."

Sherlock made a face at this, why couldn't anyone other than John just accept him as he was for god sakes, was it really so hard to see him in a relationship?

"Hey it's just an idea, something to think about. Yet I still don't understand... How could Moriarty get it so wrong? As you said, he's meant to be a genius, and even if he truly is sociopathic, it really doesn't need spelling out..."

Sherlock was quiet. He knew why he had got it so wrong, yet he didn't want to say it. The others might look at him in pity or John would in some misguided way get protective. He had always, always had trouble with this, the human condition. He had always believed there was no point in emotions, they were messy, complicated; the fly in the ointment of humanity, yet part of the very definition of the word.

Sherlock had not grown up in a happy home. It hadn't even been a home to him, not really. The draughty halls and cold furnishings of the huge house did not allow for any kind of warm attachment. His father had left them, and his mother had been too busy wallowing in the self pity and the misplaced sense of blame that she had lain at her children's feet to be there for them like a mother should. Mycroft had left him, gone off to boarding school at a young age to get away from it all. What he had felt during his childhood... 'Well, that's all I had known I suppose,' Sherlock ruminated. 'I had not felt the good emotions, not felt affection or any sense of friendship, nothing like John had ever shown me: love and passion, a complete feeling of belonging that warms me from the inside out.' That was a proper home, where that burning torch lay. The place did not matter, it was the feeling.

John was home to him.

And that was how Sherlock had first declared his love for him, never had said the words properly aloud until just this morning. He hadn't been able to, fear had pierced him at random times, the what ifs had piled upon him. If he said the words truly out loud, for everyone to hear, he might wake up.

He may wake up from this fantastic fantasy, only to be dreaming in his four poster bed back at the chilly manor, or he could suddenly awaken from a coma, induced by drugs and his own helplessness.

But he hadn't.

This was real, nothing had changed; John was still right here.

And he was finally beginning to believe that he always would be.

"Sherlock? Woo-hoo, come in, earth to mop head,"

Sherlock shook himself and scowled as John waved a hand in front of his face. He may love the short arse, but he would not stand to be called 'mop-head'. He had a perfectly fine head of curls, thank you very much, ones he knew John loved.

"John I would appreciate it very much if you would not call me that again. I have warned you more than once, yet you seem to need reminding every time. I may be forced to put your mug on the top shelf like last time."

"Ha, knew it would get your attention though, am I right? Well, I don't think I would mind, considering what happened last time."

John gave him a secret glance, winking at him as his eyes smouldered. Sherlock's eyes widened and then he blushed violently and looked down shyly. John took pity on him and changed the subject, before the others cottoned on.

"So what were you gonna say? Any ideas on why he didn't realise, or are you just gonna sit there and get lost in that palace of yours?"

" I have several theories, yes. One which I am certain on, however. I will not explain it yet, it will become apparent in due course as we watch these videos. Which reminds me: Lestrade, is there any way in which a minimum amount of people get to see this? I realise you have protocol to carry out, but... I don't really care. I could just take them and destroy them, then you would have nothing. So, failing that, what are your suggestions?"

Before Lestrade had chance to retaliate, John looked over at him with an apologetic expression and made his way over to his partner and gently tugged on the curls at the nape of his neck in a soft reprimand.

"Sherlock, bit not good love. Might not want to threaten the detective inspector that has a documentation of our whole relationship. Leaves way too many embarrassing stories he could use for blackmail."

John then turned his head away to look properly at Lestrade, although not after giving Sherlock a sneaky peck on the bottom of his jaw, where he could reach properly. He knew Sherlock always thought this was endearing, even though he had never mentioned it. His expression was enough. The detective gave a small pleased 'hmm' and stopped fidgeting as John continued to stroke the back of his neck, hand sifting through the curls comfortingly.

"What he's trying to say, mate, is that if there is any way possible for this to be, I don't know, reduced to as little people and as little playback-slash-repeats of the damn things we would be extremely grateful."

Sherlock snorted at this, and John swotted at him playfully, as Greg spluttered slightly as the conversation did a one-eighty on him. God, Sherlock just had to make this difficult, didn't he. Although, he could completely understand. He might be willing to bend the rules a little, considering the circumstances. Shit, if his superiors found out... Well, they could just watch them for themselves, couldn't they? Lestrade really couldn't see them cautioning him for a slight tweak, not unless they wanted to comb through every piece of footage several times.

"Right, well. Boys, I got limited options here. I might be able to get the repeats down to two, and I think I can get away with just us four watching it, unless anything... Illegal occurs. Is there anything you can think of that would be described as such?"

Sherlock and John looked at each other, slightly panicked. There was an... admittedly huge list of things that could be considered illegal, not least of all John's gun. Sherlock was pretty sure Lestrade already knew about that though, so it was just... Thankfully, John stepped in.

"Greg, you may not want to ask us that. I know I've told you several things whilst at the pub, stories which contain, shall we say, a small amount of breaking and entering and other activities that we had to do in order to catch someone, and don't get me started on the amount of trouble he gets me into on a daily basis. You able to turn a blind eye? Mostly all of it has let you catch a criminal, so it's kinda necessary."

"Yes, John's right Lestrade, we- wait you told him?! What could have possibly convinced you to let that out? Other than stupidly large amounts of alcohol, although you've never come home extremely drunk, not since I said I would withhold se-"

"Alright! Yes I've never got drunk after you said...that. But Greg asked for a inside view on the cases I uploaded to the blog, kind of a behind the scenes look. Plus he wasn't on duty, and promised not to hold any of it against us in court. You know he couldn't anyway, not with Mycroft lurking about everywhere."

" urgh, well the git has to have some use doesn't he?"

"Right this is getting off the subject again. I guess... Yeah I'll have to, I can't use these as criminal evidence for offences against you anyway, the cameras are illegally placed so any crimes committed, unless extremely serious, cannot be held up... That's what I'll say, at any rate, if I get questioned."

"Thanks Greg, this means a lot to us, even though Sherlock might not acknowledge it." John threw out an elbow to give a soft dig into the lanky man's ribs, who growled slightly and said thank you under his breath.

"Okay enough of this, let's just play the them, we can worry about the red tape surrounding this cluster-fuck later. Right, let's get this over with. God help me."

Greg decisively got up and walked to the desk, settling himself into his seat as he grabbed the remote. He set them to rewind and glanced up at the three of them, taking in their hesitant expressions, and in the case of Sherlock and John, major embarrassment factored in. He grinned as he teased them.

"What, did you think you would side-track me by talking? Not gonna happen. I may be less intelligent than you but I know when someone's trying to distract me. Sit down, get comfortable and try not to die of embarrassment."

And with that, DI Gregory Lestrade winked, put his feet up and pressed play.


	7. When We Collide

The screen flickered for a while, and then a grainy image from an outside CCTV camera began to appear. It was dark: only the ambient lighting from a select few windows and cars made the scene visible, the road quiet in the earliest of mornings. The only sign of life was a young couple staggering slightly along the pavement who shortly disappeared, tripping round the corner and appearing to laugh drunkenly at each other.

The time stamp in the corner read 01:37, the date 01/04/2010.

The camera suddenly started moving, swivelling slowly as it zoomed into a cab that was fast approaching, the driver obviously being persuaded to step on it. The trick reminded John of the days after meeting Sherlock for the first time: Mycroft and his dramatic kidnapping, the ostentatious show of his control over London security systems, how they always followed him no matter where he was or what he was doing. This seemed a lot more sinister to him, perhaps because he knew it was Moriarty or whatever henchman was at his beck and call. Or maybe it was the fact that it was extremely disturbing, the knowledge that he had gotten so used to them ceaselessly pointing their glassy stare at himself and Sherlock.

He looked over at the detective, who was sitting as close to his side as possible given that they were in two separate chairs, and studied his face. It looked like he was thinking the same as John, his mouth a pale thin line in his otherwise stoic features that were at odds with his current body language. He slowly moved to cover his hand, which was clenched around the armrests of the chair, squeezing it hesitantly in case Sherlock did not want his touch. After not gaining any kind of response, he began to move his hand back dejectedly to its original position. He was therefore startled as the man at his side quickly flipped his hand, palm up, so he could grasp John's fingers between his own.

Sherlock was thankful for john's touch: he had begun to get caught up in his own head again. He needed John to ground him, lest he float away on a sea of churning black thoughts, barbed as Poseidon's trident and just as terrifying. They glinted in the waves of feeling, like sun reflections from the jewellery of drowned sailors. His head and heart pounded as one, for once: john had caused that beat to finally match perfectly, now in sync more than he ever had been. He closed his eyes for a moment, just as two dark, bedraggled creatures emerged from the taxi on screen, rotten, algae draped deckhands emerging from the moonlit froth on a beach far, far from here. Sherlock shook his head slightly, murmuring a gentle:

"No…"

Now was not a time to be waxing poetic.

Nothing was dead here.

Nothing was adrift.

Curse his childhood love for pirate stories: they would be the death of him. He did have a love for dramatics after all, not that he would ever admit that aloud to anyone, especially after John's good-natured-yet-rather-close-to-home teasing. Similes and metaphors had no place here, only facts, logic and John. Always John.

Sherlock opened his eyes to see John turn his head towards him slightly, eyebrows lowered in concern. Oh. Sherlock had spoken his name out loud. Instead of looking back, he slowly lowered his heavy head to his partners' shoulder, curly hair brushing his neck lovingly. He closed his eyes again, savouring John's scent and snuffling into the dip between shoulder and neck, his favourite place to rest when in a moping mood. He felt more than heard John chuckle quietly as he placed a small kiss on Sherlock's head, before turning back to the screen.

Sherlock reopened his eyes and caught Lestrade and Donovan staring at him with joint expressions of shock, before Sally smirked and Lestrades eyebrow rose. He glared at them and scowled, feeling embarrassed in his moment of weakness. In fact, he had forgotten they were even there. Sherlock jerked his head up from his lover's shoulder and burned holes into the ground with his eyes. He pulled his hand out from under John's and retreated back into himself, walls going up completely. Now wasn't the time to be childish.

John again looked at Sherlock in concern, wondering why his partner had pulled away. He looked up and saw nothing exciting going on, just the two of them finally getting the door open to 221, Sherlock herding him slightly as he always does.

"Sherlock..?" John risked putting his hand on his arm, which tensed under his touch but quickly relaxed as Sherlock leaned imperceptibly into him before tugging his arm from his hold. John got the message, and prepared himself to ignore whatever sour comment he said next: it was all for show. He understood, and was a bit peeved with the two officers sitting opposite, actually, especially with Lestrade. They should know by now, how much Sherlock relied on his sociopathic exterior and instead they sit there and seemingly mock him for showing emotion.

"John now is not the time for sentiment, we are on a case and I need to focus on this, so stop fawning over me and watch the video, I do not need to remind you of the seriousness of this matter, considering that it is about us, do I? No? Good, and I would appreciate, Lestrade, if you and your… colleague," he sneered at Donovan as she looked at him indignantly. "Would pay attention also, otherwise there is no point of you even being here. Now stop inflicting your insipid thoughts on me and do whatever you are here to do."

Sherlock took a deep breath as he stared ahead, not concentrating on anything in particular. He removed all outside stimulus and concentrated all but a slither of his focus on the evidence, the small part that wasn't for the work left for John and his reactions, always keeping tabs on his blogger from the corner of his eye. His hands in his usual pose by his face, and his feet brought up onto the chair so he could rest them on his knees, Sherlock blinked as the camera shot went black for a few seconds, and then burst into colour that was joined by the sound of scuffing and panted breaths. It was a lot higher quality: either it was one belonging to Mycroft that Sherlock had missed on his searches whenever the git visited, and he seriously doubted that, or it was Moriarty who had placed it. Must have been. Mycroft would never plant a camera at this angle. This placement screamed stealth, whereas 'big brother' tended to focus on the angle that would give the most useful view.

Beside him, Sherlock heard John sigh and caught him mouthing to Lestrade across the room: irrelevant.

Lestrade felt like a huge dick now. At first, yeah, he had been surprised by Sherlock's little display of affection. Who wouldn't? He didn't mean to mock him for it, far from it. He felt a bit privileged really: he had witnessed him being…well… cute. There was no other word for it; he had been _snuggling_ with John for Christ sake. And he had ruined it by appearing to be judgmental about it. Well, no point in crying over it now, what's done is done. Although the man didn't have to defend himself quite so thoroughly, john hadn't done anything wrong in Lestrades eyes. John's reaction had confused him somewhat as well. He hadn't seemed put out or upset or anything like that. Just pissed off, and not with who you would imagine.

Greg really did hate it when Watson pulled out the Captain stare on him; it was… disconcerting. It didn't match up with the John that he had gotten to know over the year of being in his presence. He was kind and doctor-ly, and put up with far too much shit. He wore those jumpers that were all comfort and no fashion to speak of. On a case, he was stoic: he could handle the vilest of crimes, more so than any of the members of the forensics team, as much as Sherlock, even. Lestrade did not know this John, the one with a pack and rifle slung over his back, his fatigues bloody and torn, dust worn and clung to by many a man's hands as they bled to death in the heat and flies of an Afghanistan best forgotten. Only Sherlock could even get close to knowing him fully. He felt like a school boy being reprimanded by the headmaster.

He looked over at Sally and could see that she felt a bit bad as well, yet also pissed off at being part of Sherlock's acidic diatribe. She was trying her best to ignore John and was pouting at the screen instead. She started a little as the camera changed and lost that expression quickly, calling Lestrade to focus as he was distracted by a silent conversation with John.

"Sir? The audio has kicked in, we didn't really watch too much after this, did we?"

Both he and John sat up straighter, angling themselves to get the most comfortable view of the TV; if this caused John to lean against Sherlock slightly, well, he wasn't complaining. His voice reverberated through the room, choked slightly by gasping breaths.

"_Sher-sherlock…" _

There was a thud as his head hit the wall of the entrance way of 221; the exact same place where they had laughed together, what seemed like years ago. Sherlock was not beside him this time, instead pacing in front of him with a stricken expression on his face, eyes wide as he muttered to himself. You couldn't make out much of what he was saying, just random words, his pacing speeding up exponentially with his level of frantic energy, a positive correlation.

"_john- you-…I don't-Moriarty, he said…why- …sense. Not quite true?… not quite true… heart- john-burn?-burn-__**burn-BURN!"**_

He seems to stop dead. All strings cut as his hands flop to his sides from their previous position of fluttering beside his head, a great _swooshing_ noise that Sherlock swears he can hear over the tape. His face, which had been parallel to the floor, eyes screwed shut so tight that it's a wonder his eyeballs weren't crushed by the pressure, now snaps up as he gasps.

He is broken: his battery has run out, his heart stops for a minute and everything seems to be a much bigger deal than it used to be. Sherlock remembers that moment like it was yesterday, the moment when he knew he was defeated. The chemical defects had caught up, manifested in his system, without him even _knowing._ A million thoughts had run through his head, yet it only lasted seconds. He can see the time in the corner of the screen, he is amazed and slightly disturbed that he had deduced and reacted to the fact that he was in love in less than 3 seconds.

John is still panting against the wall, still staring at Sherlock like he hadn't just made the _biggest personal deduction of his life._ He can now revel in it, instead of panic like what happened at the time. He can bask in the fact that he is in love with the greatest man he has ever known, and the fact that _this man loves him back._

In Lestrades office, John can feel Sherlock against the back of his shoulder and along his arm. He feels the hitch in breath, the tension in his frame. At the time of the video, john had assumed that his brilliant, ridiculously handsome flatmate had deduced something about Moriarty.

But now, he knows.

John turns in his chair to look at Sherlock, sees the widened eyes and awed expression. Pale supernova eyes flicker to dark sea and a wondering smile replaces the slightly opened lips as his doctor cups his cheeks and grins back.

"That was the moment you knew, wasn't it?"

John whispers reverently into the air between them, and Sherlock huffs out a long breath as he leans his head against blonde and grey silk.

"_yes…_"

The moment extends itself: warps beyond all methods of time as their breath mingles in the space between them, the particles of Sherlock bouncing and swirling against the particles of John, collision theory at its finest. We are all just particles, floating upon this ground, in this restricted space of each individual niche: every person meeting is a collision, every old acquaintance bouncing off a limping individual, every chance encounter between a detective and a doctor teaching at St. Barts creates a new chain of events, until two particles collide in a lab on a non-descript day and manage to ignite.

But all moments are broken, and Sherlock knows that nothing lasts forever: particles decay, half-life after half-life is reached until there is nothing but bones. However, that will not come to pass soon, (he hopes anyway), so it is broken as all things are: with an interruption.

"What do you mean 'the moment that you knew'? All I can see is the two of you getting wound up to epic proportions!"

Sherlock growled under his breath for a second, and John joins in with some rather spectacular swears. He slips his hands down Sherlock's front, prolonging the contact as much as possible under the pretense of straightening his shirt, as Sherlock's hand slips around his waist. In the background, he can hear the thud-thud-thud of one pair of feet going up the staircase to 221B. He knows it's Sherlock, remembers the confusion he felt as his friend suddenly came back to life with shaking hands, took one look at him and… well, legged it up the stairs. The Sherlock in an office in Scotland Yard is now looking over his shoulder, curious about how he reacted. The one good thing about all this mess is the objective view they can gain from it: analyse their partners reaction to things they either didn't notice or weren't there for. As John thinks this he straightens suddenly.

His face is now a flaming red.

Shit.


End file.
